


Warrior Pose

by fancyfeastfan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Android Saga, F/M, Vegeta being Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Yoga, the three years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyfeastfan/pseuds/fancyfeastfan
Summary: When Bulma tells Vegeta to learn to relax, she wasn't expecting him to actually do it. She definitely wasn't expecting him to take up yoga.And she really, really, REALLY wasn't expecting him to actually learn anything from it.Set during the infamous three year gap.  Some silliness, some seriousness.





	Warrior Pose

This morning, like too many mornings for Bulma Briefs as of late, began with a crash and a thud and an unwelcome burst of light. Her bedroom door fell flat on her carpet with a thwoomp as brightness filled the room. Metal skittered across the floor, clanging at the base of her bed only a fraction of a second later. She rustled around to squint at the numbers on her alarm clock’s face: 4:30AM.

She had hoped to sleep until noon after this shitshow of a week. Deadlines for Capsule Corp Q4 mounted, so Bulma had been pulling all-nighters with too much frequency. She’d also been much more hands-on with the robotics division recently, figuring that a brush-up on the latest innovations might come in handy against the looming android threat.

She was so exhausted by Friday afternoon that she had put a hole clean through her desk while trying to attach some papers together.

With a power drill. 

Well-rested Bulma would have probably just used the stapler. 

She’d planned to have a massively relaxing Saturday: go for a walk, get a massage and a facial, take a dip in the massive Capsule Corp hot tub. A fully luxurious day fit for the Earth’s most beautiful genius, topped off by drifting back to sleep at an early hour, thus fully resetting her sleep cycle. 

Yet the first woman on earth to successfully launch humanity into deep space could not accomplish a simple sleep cycle reboot. Nope. 

And it was all the fault of one stupid, dickhead houseguest.

“You need to stop breaking the training bots, Vegeta,” Bulma groused, blearily rubbing her eyes.

“Does that look like a bloody training bot to you, woman?” 

Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light, Bluma fixed her eyes on the shards of metal on her carpet. Bent blades, shattered glass, a melted door, a wall plug—

Vegeta sneered down at the pile, crossing his arms. “The cooking implements on this planet are inadequate. I cannot even make the breakfast as instructed by that large woman on the television who refuses to wear foot coverings.”

Bulma shot up in her bed.

“What the— is that my microwave?! And my BLENDER?!” she shrieked. "Ugh, never mind — Vegeta. It is four thirty in the fucking morning. On a Saturday."

“What does the date on this planet's primitive calendar have to do with its shoddy food preparation technology?" 

“Did you not have Saturdays in space? Weekends? Days off?” 

“Ah, yes, of course. Frieza provided a generous vacation policy for the PTO.”

"Really?” she mused, staring at the ceiling, brain already going full speed ahead with the possibilities of how a space dictator would manage his underlings’ scheduling. As the CEO of the world’s largest corporation, figuring out the balance between meeting deadlines while avoiding employee burnout was one of the sciences Bulma was not so proficient at. It really didn’t help that she was frequently gone for long stretches at a time with no notice given to her employees. She really should have delegated the work-life balance algorithm to someone else long ago, come to think of it.

“That’s somewhat surprising, you’d think he wouldn’t care at all about his subordin—“ she caught Vegeta’s eyes, and her mistake, as she processed his look of sheer disgust. 

For a split second, Bulma felt the hot flush of embarrassment, but quickly recalibrated to indignance, hoping the Saiyan prince hadn't noticed.

"Sorry I missed the sarcasm,_ Your Highness_,” Bulma huffed. "I’m a little slow on the uptake, y’know, as it is _four fucking thirty in the goddamn morning!_”

Vegeta leaned against the doorframe with a smirk. “The so-called smartest woman on the planet is so easily addled by the position of the sun?”

“Ugh, the smartest woman on the planet is ‘addled' by lack of _sleep_, not the sun.” 

Bulma swung her legs over the side of the bed, slid into her slippers, and cautiously made her way to the hallway, hopping over the sharp remains of her shattered door and bits of broken glass. "Besides, isn’t your superior species ‘addled’ by the moon? Pot, kettle much?”

It was Vegeta’s turn to go on the defensive. “Wh-wh- how dare you compare our sacred transformation to-to—“ 

Bulma sidestepped the stammering prince as she yawned and shuffled down the hall. No way would she be dealing with this without some coffee. Given her current level of exhaustion, she could probably have two cups and still pass out for an afternoon nap. She paused at the living room phone, Vegeta tailing her a bit too closely. 

“God, Vegeta, would it kill you to chill out a little?” Bulma said with a sigh.

“Chill… out? Get colder?” Vegeta furrowed his brows. He didn’t have great associations with these series of words. Besides, he was quite comfortable, temperature-wise. 

"Y’know, relax? Calm down? Namaste?" Bulma punctuated this with an 'om' hand gesture.

"What is this ‘Namaste'?" 

"It’s something that people say at the end of a yoga class. It mostly means, um, greetings, but it's taken as more of a--"

"Yo-ga?"

It was way too early to explain an ancient spiritual practice to an ungrateful alien houseguest.

"Tell you what, if you haven't broken the coffee machine too, I'll explain everything after I've had a cup of Joe."

"Gods, woman, your species' dependence on that vile-smelling stimulant beverage to maintain alertness is wholly pathetic. A Saiyan's attention is at peak performance upon waking—"

"Yes, yes, and your Saiyan morning boners could shatter concrete with their rock-hard potency. I get it already," Bulma waved away his royal dickhead as she picked up the phone. 

Vegeta looked like he wanted to die. “V-vulgar creature…"

Bulma smirked. She finally got a little revenge for the too-early morning.

She dialed the number of the only 24-hour diner still willing to deliver to the Capsule compound. “Hi, yes, could I get thirty of your lox bagel specials to the Briefs compound? Yep, thirty, three-zero. My payment info should still be on file. Yes, I’ll hold.”

Bulma rolled her eyes at the Saiyan impatiently huffing and tapping his foot behind her. A few moments later, the voice on the other end spoke again.

“Ah, yes, that’s correct, two-one-four-one. That’s the account. Could you also add a large iced mocha? Two, actually?” Without seeing the damage to the kitchen, Bulma didn’t want to bet that her brand-new, six-digit-zeni cappuccino machine survived whatever the fuck happened that morning. 

For all the flack she caught from Krillin about being impulsive, Bulma Briefs knew what was worth risking, and what wasn’t. Caffeine was one thing not worth risking. A good relationship with this diner was another—especially given her current houseguest’s appetite.

“Thirty percent tip, yes. Thanks so much."

She hung up the phone and staggered to the couch, flopping down face-first. Yes, this is what she needed. To die in a pile of pillows. That sounded very nice. 

Vegeta leaned over her, glowering. “Well, woman?”

“45 minutes,” came Bulma’s muffled reply.

“Tch. This will delay my training for today,” the prince growled. 

Bulma rolled over, exasperated, and propped her head up on her arm.

“You know, I have 400 experimental sedatives, anxiolytics, and tranquilizers that the ethics review board won’t let me test on humans. Promising results in rats, though. Would you like to try some? Might help you take it down a notch, Prince of the Hotheads.”

“As if I’d trust the medicinal prowess of a planet that hasn’t yet invented healing tanks,” Vegeta replied, but with only half the venom as usual. 

He seemed to be fixing his eyes a foot above her head, steadfastly avoiding eye contact. Bulma realized absently that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her nightgown. Whatever. He’d have to just deal with a bit of natural boobage for the time being.

Vegeta shifted uncomfortably. Bulma smirked to herself inwardly. He paused for a moment, seemingly weighing whether he should ask his next question.

“Why do you keep commenting on my body temperature?”

Now Bulma was laughing inside, but decided not to mock Vegeta for that one. There were certain things she considered off-limits, like when he asked honest questions about things he didn’t understand, without a trace of his usual malice or pomp. It was a fun mental exercise for Bulma, too, to reassess what she took for granted as “normal.” She didn’t dare discourage Vegeta asking questions about Earth. It was kind of like having a kid around. A kid who threw lots of tantrums, but at the very least, didn’t need his diaper changed.

“Oh, I guess it tracks that our idioms wouldn’t really translate. Hmmm… basically… Earthlings tend to align emotional states with temperature. There’s ‘get heated,’ which is to get angry or argumentative. ‘Hot-headed,’ which is someone who gets angry easily—_Vegeta, you giving me that look is proving my point—‘_cool down’ is like… get your emotional state more mellow, ‘chill out’ is saying ‘calm yourself,’ basically.”

Vegeta seemed to be turning this over in his head. 

“What, then, is ‘mondo cool’?”

“…Let’s wait on that until after coffee."

* * *

Two hours later, a hungry Saiyan was full of smoked salmon bagels and a tired heiress was fully caffeinated. It had taken Vegeta longer than usual, Bulma noticed, because Vegeta would periodically pause and look towards the southeast, seeming slightly puzzled. 

In an unusual move, Vegeta had joined her on the couch while she watched some low-budget dating show. Bulma’s brain was completely turned off after half an episode of trash television when the doorbell rang.

Bulma was surprised to see a very familiar bald head and orange gi appear on her intercom screen. She buzzed him in, grabbing a robe to cover up a bit for her unexpected guest. Krillin wasn’t nearly as perverse as Master Roshi, but still, she wasn’t looking to be leered at before 7am.

“Krillin? What brings you all the way out here? Not that I’m not glad to see a familiar face! I’d offer you some food, but…” Bulma gave a nod in Vegeta’s direction. Krillin was all too familiar with Saiyan appetites. He gave a nervous look at Vegeta, who was sitting on the sofa, appearing to watch a dating program intently. Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans. Vegeta, who almost killed Krillin multiple times. Watching TV. This was too surreal for Krillin. Weirder still, Bulma seemed completely unruffled as she took a seat at a small table near the window. 

“Ah, haha! No, I’m fine, Bulma. Sorry to show up unannounced like this! Especially so early in the morning. I needed a mental break from Roshi’s dirty videos playing at full volume, so I stopped by, haha! I uh, had wanted to ask Yamcha something, actually — is he awake yet?”

A dark look passed over the heiress. Krillin gulped.

“I’m not sure if he’s awake or not. No idea where he is,” Bulma said airily. "He’s certainly not _living here_.”

Krillin had died already — twice, actually — but the monk still feared Bulma’s legendary temper. He decided to change the subject, but he had counted on Yamcha’s presence, and without that he was kind of out of ideas. 

“I’m… I’m sure you two will…” he stammered, helplessly.

“Patch things up? Bury the hatchet? Kiss and make up?” Bulma gave a derisive snort. “Not likely." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Krillin thought he could see Vegeta turn his attention towards them, ever so slightly. Bulma was glaring out the window at an imaginary enemy, angry thoughts churning like molten lava in her head. 

It had been two months, at least, since Yamcha had bounced out of her life. He had seemed less and less invested in their relationship, barely even present, for weeks. The post-Namek-for-her, post-afterlife-for-him reunion sex Bulma had looked forward to for so long was… awkward. Disconnected. Weird. And worse, it felt as though Yamcha, having been left behind in strength by the rest of their friends, was starting to resent her for being so successful in her own field. By the end, there was no bickering or squabbling, just passive-aggressive digs at one another that felt a bit too cruel. It was clear that, given a date for the apocalypse, Yamcha hadn’t wanted to spend his remaining years with her. So he left.

Bulma glanced at Krillin, who was staring steadfastly at his hands, and realized she had been seething silently for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

“Sorry, Krillin,” she said with a sad smile. “He might have gone back to the desert, I’m really not sure. Can you try to sense him instead?”

From the couch, Vegeta gave a snort. “The weakling is barely detectable at full strength when he’s across the room, let alone thousands of kilometers away.”

(This was not exactly accurate, Krillin thought, but had a ring of truth in it. The small monk had barely been able to track Yamcha’s energy signature from Kame House, which made him nervous. Yamcha didn’t seem to be powering up, or training, barely at all. His ki had felt… deflated, almost. Worried, Krillin had decided to visit Capsule Corp to offer a sparring session, and to make sure the scarred fighter was okay.)

“Vegeta, seriously,” Bulma sighed, rubbing her temples. “While you’re here, Krillin, mind giving the Prince of all Pricks a lesson in simmering the hell down? Meditation? Mindfulness? Yoga? Zen? Something?” 

Krillin gave another nervous laugh, eying Vegeta on the couch warily. “Well, uh, I am not really qualified, I’m not even technically a practicing monk anymore…” he trailed off, hoping that was enough of an out.

Vegeta seemed completely baffled by this line of conversation. “Short human, explain.”

Krillin looked from Vegeta to Bulma, hoping she would intervene, but she simply stirred her coffee idly. _Dammit, Bulma. _

“Well, uh, on Earth we have these spiritual practices, a variety of them, in fact. There’s, um, zen, which is kind of difficult to explain, but basically it’s about achieving a better mental state, being in tune with the moment, being one with everything around you -- it’s hard to put into words, um, it’s more of a felt experience, I guess. It’s how I learned ki sensing in the first place, actually!” Krillin looked up, expecting to see a sneer, but surprised to find Vegeta listening intently. 

"Yoga is — it’s sort of similar,” Krillin continued, not feeling any more sure of himself. “It’s like a physical practice that focuses on the breath, in a meditative kind of way. There’s, um, different types, but I’m not really familiar with all of them, since it comes from a different school of thought, and a different religious origin. But you move through different poses, kind of like katas, I guess, and focus on the breathing throughout. It’s supposed to be centering and clarifying, though I’ve never done it myself, so… I mean, even Piccolo meditates, and I’m pretty sure Namekians don’t have zen or yoga…”

“And this helps with training?” Vegeta asked, eyes fixed on Krillin. 

“Well, um, yes. Quite a lot, actually.”

“Who teaches these techniques?”

“Um, so, I learned from a monastery, you’re brought in as a monk in training to live there and learn from the elder monks. Goku learned his breathing and meditation techniques from Korin, mostly. Yoga, I guess, you can learn anywhere that has a studio. We’re in West City so there’s gotta be hundreds of them.”

“Krillin is right,” Bulma said, suddenly deciding to be helpful. “There's LuxeFlow. It’s expensive but it has all the latest trends, like hot hottie yoga classes.”

“Hot hottie?” Krillin asked. “Like in an extra-warm room? Isn’t that sort of common?”

"The room is kept at a minimum of 105 degrees, and you have to be a minimum 8/10, hotness-wise, to attend,” Bulma said matter-of-factly. “They have a bouncer to keep out the less fortunate. Of course, I have no problems getting in."

Krillin gaped at Bulma. That had to be the most twisted bougie shit he had ever heard. “Wh-what—"

“Oh, sorry, Krillin, I mean 40 degrees Celsius. I’m so used to using Kelvin at work, and then talking to only my mom about the weather, and she uses West City’s system,” Bulma babbled, oblivious to Krillin’s expression of horror. "I know it’s a weird quirk of this place to use the other measuring system when no one else does. A hundred degrees Celsius would kill someone, ha!"

“Tha-that’s not what I—“

Vegeta suddenly stood up. Krillin stopped short, indignant sputtering about sacred traditions forgotten. He and Bulma fell silent, gawking at the alien prince, who was puffing up in a stance they hadn’t seen since Namek as he approached. He loomed over the breakfast nook and made a very unexpected proclamation.

“I will not attend whatever training sessions the woman is describing. They clearly do not work, as she is still embarrassingly feeble, even by this planet’s standards. I will find a ‘yoga’ worthy of my superior strength.” To punctuate, Vegeta kicked down the door that opened to Capsule Corp’s sizable backyard. 

“Then,” he smiled, sickeningly, "I will teach you cretins the real meaning of this ’namaste.”

With a flash and a ground-shuddering boom… 

Vegeta was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> here it is, my very first vegebul fanfic, inspired by my recent venture back into physical activity. i hope you guys enjoy it. 
> 
> one of the challenges in writing this fic was depicting a real-world spiritual practice in a way that felt accurate to the dragonball world, while also being respectful of its rich history. dragonball itself references and remixes a lot of eastern religious traditions, including buddhism, shinto, and daoism. there will be quite a bit of skewering of appropriative, ultra-commercialized yoga studios that i imagine would be popular in a place like west city.
> 
> criticism always welcome <3


End file.
